We Are Made From Broken Parts
by SoulKit
Summary: *AU* Everyone has secrets. Phoenix just has more than most people. But when a vagrant called Apollo beats him in a game of poker after seven years of remaining undefeated, Phoenix learns that some people have just as many. And maybe he doesn't have to deal with them alone… *Alternate AJ:AA* *NickApollo* *Warnings inside*
1. If You Can Lose It All

**WARNINGS: Spoilers for most of the games. Will contain graphic slash, descriptions of self-harm and abuse. References to dub-con. Oh, and there will be OOCness. Plus a lot of angst. A LOT of angst. A very mentally unhealthy amount of angst... There's gonna be angst.  
**

* * *

Ace Attorney:** We Are Made From Broken Parts  
**Chapter One:  
_- If You Can Lose It All -  
_By Soulkit

'_How did I get into this situation?'_

The thought came to Phoenix, not entirely uncalled for, as he stared at the kid sitting opposite him in the basement of the Borsht Bowl Club. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, he wondered if the boy really _was _twenty-one years old because he sure as hell didn't _look _it. He couldn't linger on that thought for very long though, because if he did then he'd start questioning everything about the kid and he was very sure he wouldn't like the answers. So for now he'd simply accept that the kid was twenty-one, there was a reason he was wearing clothes that looked like they belonged on a hobo (like he could talk), there was agood reason for why he was playing poker in the basement of a freezing Russian restaurant at one in the morning, there was a _very _legitimate explanation as to how the kid got his hands on two hundred dollars, and… well his name was apparently 'Apollo', not 'kid'.

He resisted the urge to cringe as Apollo glanced up from his cards and stared back at Phoenix with barely contained disappointment. The kid (and it didn't matter what his name was or how old he actually was because Phoenix couldn't think of him as anything else) really needed to learn the meaning of a good poker face. It may only have been the first hand, but Phoenix wasn't worried about losing. Apollo only seemed to vaguely know what he was doing and his poker face left nothing to be desired, so Phoenix found his mind wandering in order to answer the question still storming around his head.

How the hell did he get into this situation?

It had started out the same as any day and the thought made him moodier than he'd already been. He'd woken up in his run-down apartment, alone like always, and after rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes he'd dragged himself up to take a shower. Only once naked and under the spray did he realise he didn't have any hot water… again. Too late he remembered he hadn't paid the bill for that month. Still, a little warning would have been nice. It was the fifth time in three months that his landlord had cut it off without telling him. Not that he'd ever expected the fat, stinking man to do it anyway. Nothing happening to him nowadays could surprise him.

So he'd taken a quick, freezing shower, eaten breakfast – cold leftover pizza and a bottle of beer – and then spent the rest of the afternoon in his boxers staring blankly at the TV as he automatically played _Steel Samurai _reruns and drank until the room was spinning. He'd regretted it later, as he usually did, when he'd stumbled into the Borsht Bowl Club at seven o'clock and did his best to key out a tune on the old piano while his employer glared at him from across the bar. It was almost funny how infamous Phoenix's piano playing had become in recent years. When he wasn't in the near-perpetual drunken state he found himself in nowadays, he was actually pretty good. He'd had lessons when he was younger (hadn't _that_ been a bucket of fun and a half) and it turned out his muscle memory was stronger than Phoenix had ever given it credit for. Not that he'd been unhappy to be proven wrong. When you were fired, branded a traitor and treated as a leper in your old profession and by most of your old friends, you kind of needed something to support yourself with.

'_Right, because being employed as a piano player for a stupid Russian restaurant while moonlighting as a poker player to pay for your rent is such a good definition of supporting yourself.' _He'd thought glumly as he pulled his hood up over his spiky black hair and huddled into the over-sized garment, wishing all the while he could just crawl inside himself and be done with it. Watching his breaths form a cloud of mist in front of his head, he'd taken a break from his abysmal playing and wondered just what unlucky star he'd been born under.

He was thirty-three going on thirty-four, practically half way through his life, and instead of standing in the courtroom doing what he'd always dreamed of, he spent his days drinking and gambling. Although, honestly speaking, he couldn't say he hated his job entirely. Phoenix enjoyed playing poker for the most part and his seven-year winning streak proved beyond a doubt he was damned good at it to boot. He was actually proud of his record. But he was breaking the law for a living and, like it or not, he would always be a lawyer at heart. It was hardly a surprise he could barely look at himself in the mirror anymore.

He needed the money though. That's what it all came down to in the end. No-one wanted to hire Phoenix Wright: disgraced attorney and remorseless liar. Thanks to that he remained in the hovel that was his life now, too ashamed to talk to the friends who still wanted to know him and getting increasingly frustrated his mission to prove his innocence was hitting nothing but dead-ends. How did he think it was going to happen anyway? That decisive evidence would just show up at every turn? That he'd back to his old life within a few months? This wasn't a courtroom. He couldn't just flip everything he knew on its head and the answer would suddenly present itself. There was no reason to wake up and force a smile on his face no matter how bad things were because nobody was around to see it. Nobody who cared anyway.

His increasingly darkening thoughts were eventually, thankfully, interrupted when closing time came around and the first gamblers of the night made themselves known. It was a group of five, professionals apparently, and each of them took one look at Phoenix and could barely contain their scoffs. Phoenix had long since stopped caring about what his opponents thought of him. They were as bad as he was. Besides, he knew at the end of the night they would all be going home with empty pockets while he would hopefully have enough money to pay for his hot water to be put back on. The only drawback of this was that their egos couldn't handle when they were beaten by someone they had decided wasn't worth their time from the start and it tended to elicit rather violent reactions. His employer did his best to step in but the way things were going Phoenix was starting to consider officially changing his skin tone from white to black and blue.

Thankfully, two hours later all five of them had lost and Phoenix was walking away a thousand dollars richer and, for once, without a frustrated beating from the losers. It had been a lucky night, especially after a particularly shaky start with the alcohol still clouding his judgement. But every player had ended their game by shamelessly going all-in and Phoenix had walked away with the lot. They'd been too cocky at the prospect of beating Phoenix's record. They always were, and they always lost. It made no difference. He was starting to think nothing ever would.

Then the kid had shown up.

Phoenix had been genuinely surprised as he'd stepped out of the lukewarm basement and into the freezing restaurant to find his employer, Alexei Petrov, standing next to someone who, at this time, could only want one thing: a game of poker. As Alexei explained what he already knew, Phoenix examined his newest 'challenger' and found himself at a complete loss on how to react.

It was very rare for anyone younger than about twenty-five or so to come into the club for one of the poker matches, and even then he was pretty sure none of them had actually played. They'd just accompanied the actual participant. But the man (boy more like) standing in front of him couldn't have been older than twenty-one and was completely alone. An oversized grey Gavinners t-shirt contrasted with his thin frame, a pair of unintentionally ripped, faded jeans and trainers falling apart on his feet completing the picture. He had messy, light brown hair with a few bangs that hung low over his face and intense brown eyes which met Phoenix's own with a defiance that seemed to stem from principle instead of any real animosity. The nervous twitching of the boy's hands had told Phoenix all he needed to know in the end, and he shook off the uneasy feeling weighing on his shoulders while he turned and called for the kid to follow him.

"C'mon, Kid. We play downstairs."

"The name's Apollo," Phoenix stopped and turned to stare at Apollo as the boy spoke, but a moment later had absolutely no idea why he did. Apollo moved towards him as he continued. "And for the record, I'm twenty-one."

He stopped beside Phoenix and motioned for him to lead the way. Phoenix shrugged, allowed a small smirk to play around his lips and was unable resist replying, "Whatever you say 'Apollo-and-for-the-record-I'm-twenty-one'."

Anger blossomed over the kid's face and Phoenix hid his growing smile by reaching up and adjusting his hood as he turned once again and made his way down to the Hydeout.

And now here he was, sitting opposite Apollo and wishing as usual that he was anywhere else on the planet than where he was now. Phoenix barely even noticed as the first round ended, half-heartedly pulling his winnings over to himself as Damion the dealer shuffled the cards.

At Apollo's request, they were playing a version of poker called Texas hold 'em. To start with, Damion dealt both of them two cards, face down. They were known as the hole cards. While Phoenix was more used to five-card draw, he was well-versed in Texas hold 'em and the same principle of bluff still applied. You try to make pairs, three of a kind, a full house and so on, from five face-up cards that everybody used, but everything depended on your own hidden cards. They may be great, they may be terrible. The secret was to make sure no-one knew either way. Phoenix watched as Apollo raised the corners of his cards with his thumb and did only a slightly better job of hiding his emotions than last time. The thought the kid might be bluffing did cross his mind, but the reaction to Phoenix's little dig earlier made him doubt it. Apollo wasn't the type to hide his emotions very well. Phoenix checked his own cards. They was nothing to get excited about but he kept his own face blank as they began their bets.

It didn't take long for them to reach what Phoenix decided would be the final round. Apollo had slowly improved as the game continued and the older man got the impression he was slowly remembering the game rather than being just a beginner. He had won back a few hands and Phoenix had slowly found it progressively harder to read Apollo's face, but the majority of chips were on Phoenix's side and by this point he just wanted to go home and pass out. He held his poker face, however, as Damion dealt them their hole cards, silently accepted their bets and dealt a further three cards – the flop – face up on the table.

By the time the fifth and last face-up card had been dealt, Phoenix found himself looking at the jack of diamonds, the seven of hearts, the ace of clubs, the nine of hearts and the jack of hearts. The ace of clubs joined by the pair of jacks made this for an extraordinary round. If this had been a real casino, the bets might have climbed to the hundreds of thousands of dollars. But it wasn't. It was an illegal game in the middle of the night and Phoenix didn't care anymore. He just wanted to go to his bed. So, with barely a moment's hesitation, he laid his hands flat on the table and used the wedge created between his thumbs to push all of his chips into the centre of the table.

"All or nothing." He spoke quietly, but the challenge was loud and clear. He had won for seven straight years. He wasn't afraid.

Apollo looked at Phoenix and he suddenly had the weirdest feeling. Like he was a bug under a microscope being examined by an unfeeling scientist about to dissect him. He was about to say something when the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Phoenix blinked. Did that really just happen? He didn't have time to consider as Apollo shoved his far smaller pile on top of Phoenix's.

"I'm in."

Phoenix paused, slightly put out for a second, before nodding and reaching for his cards. He waited a moment before turning them over one at a time. The first card was the jack of clubs. Three of a kind. A very good hand. But the real triumph came when he turned over the second card to reveal the second black jack – the jack of spades. The odds of getting four of a kind in Texas hold 'em was four thousand one hundred and sixty four to one. It was incredible luck. But Phoenix had always been well-known for that.

He sat back and waited for Apollo to get angry, waited for him to throw his own cards down in disgust, waited for him to sigh and shake his head, waited for him to show inevitable disappointment and frustration… and Phoenix waited.

Because Apollo did none of those things. He looked at Phoenix's hand without a shred of emotion on his face before nodding like that was what he expected (which was completely impossible) and then sat for a moment. Phoenix frowned uneasily. He had four of a kind. There was no way Apollo had beaten it, was there? But the kid was sitting there, completely aware they were waiting for him and still not moving. Then he reached for his cards. And _grinned._

Phoenix could only watch as Apollo turned over the seven of hearts. And then he turned over the ten of hearts.

A long stretch of silence followed as the truth sank in. The seven, nine and jack of hearts were already on the table, face up. Put them together with Apollo's cards and he had a straight flush: seven, eight, nine, ten and jack. And in the rules of poker a straight flush beat four of a kind.

Phoenix had lost.

०౦ംഠ०**҆****'˚'****҅**०ം◦∙ ം०**҆****'˚'****҅**०౦ംഠ०

The look Alexei gave him as he handed four hundred dollars over to Apollo would have been priceless if Phoenix wasn't feeling the same emotions crossing his employer's face: a mixture of confusion, anger and a staggering amount of shock. There was something else, however, stirring in his stomach and weighing on his chest and making him feel like he was about to be sick. The alcohol had passed out of his system a while ago, but he suddenly felt like he'd drunk ten shots of vodka in a row. He was starting to wish he had.

It was stupid. It was just a stupid game of poker. But it was something Phoenix was _good _at when most of the time he could barely get a glass of water without fucking up. Even if his record always brought guilt whenever he thought about it, he had nothing else to put claim to, nothing else he could say that _he _had done, nothing else that in the long seven years since his disbarment he hadn't mangled and ruined beyond repair. Now some scruffy, underfed, naïve kid who had barely stopped fidgeting nervously since he walked in had proved that Phoenix couldn't do anything right. Not really. Not without messing it up eventually. It was completely and utterly and totally stupid.

And Phoenix had never felt more like going to sleep and never waking up again.

"Oi, I ain't gonna tell anyone."

Phoenix had been heading out the door, hood pulled down so low he could barely see and hoping Alexei wouldn't call him back to ask what the hell just happened (what did it _matter _anymore), when Apollo spoke. His basic instincts told him to keep walking and never look back (_'Run run run like you always do you pathetic little birdie'), _but something else made him stop. He turned his head in time to see Apollo walking straight past Alexei and Damion, who had come out of the Hydeout, towards him. The kid hesitated when he reached Phoenix, glanced back at the other two men and then stared straight into Phoenix's blue eyes with his own brown ones.

Phoenix was suddenly unnerved. The way Apollo was gazing at him – intense, serious - made him feel like the kid could read his thoughts. Apollo wasn't fidgeting nervously anymore and his face was completely unreadable. He barely even looked like the same person who had walked in just under an hour ago. There was a… stillness to him. Phoenix didn't know how else to describe it. A stillness right at the heart of him. It scared Phoenix and for a second he didn't know why. Then he realised.

It reminded him of Edgeworth.

"I came here cos I needed a lot of money quick and there wasn't anywhere else I could get it. I don't care about your 'poker record'. I don't have anyone worth telling even if I did," Apollo spoke quietly but firmly, his stare never wavering. "I'm sorry."

The stillness left as soon as the kid stopped talking and Phoenix was once again standing before a twenty-one-year old who looked sixteen in over-sized, over-worn clothing with hands that wouldn't stop fidgeting. Before the older man could respond, Apollo was gone. It took Phoenix a moment to register the kid's quick exit but as soon as he did he found himself following. He wasn't sure why.

Although it was the middle of January, the night air was far warmer than the arctic temperatures of the Borsht Bowl Club. He wondered how Apollo had survived with just a thin t-shirt. Phoenix glanced down the street and caught sight of Apollo walking away, limping slightly on his left leg.

"Hold it." The familiar phrase tripped off Phoenix's tongue and he physically winced at the memories that came with it and hated himself a little bit more. It did the job, however, as Apollo froze at the sound of his voice and slowly turned to face him.

"What?" The kid asked, eyes darting nervously around. He actually took half a step back as Phoenix moved closer causing the older man to stop and hold his hands out. The younger man's face wasn't hard to read now. Phoenix idly noted the confusion and slight fear crossing it.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He reassured.

"Oi, what d'you want then?" Apollo repeated his question, still sounding suspicious.

The problem was Phoenix was wondering the exact same thing. He opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. After several seconds of silence, Apollo started to move off again when Phoenix finally pinpointed what was bothering him.

"I don't care if you tell. About winning, I mean. I don't lie to people."

He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted Apollo to think that he wasn't a bad person (_'Because you are, aren't you?'). _To be honest Phoenix hadn't given a damn about what people thought of him ever since… well, for a while now anyway. Maybe it was because Apollo had beaten him, maybe it was because he was probably never going to see the kid again, maybe it was the way the brunette had looked (like _Edgeworth_) in the few moments before he left the club, but, for some reason, he cared about what Apollo thought.

Apollo frowned. "You're a poker player. You lie for a living."

"Yeah but I wasn't always," Phoenix grimaced slightly as he replied. The kid obviously grasped the concept of a poker face far better than he'd thought. "And I can't say I don't enjoy playing poker but… I hate people who lie. So I don't do it if I don't have to."

Something flashed across Apollo's face as Phoenix spoke but it was gone before he could identify it. The kid bit his lip as he looked at Phoenix and once again the older man experienced the weird sensation that he was being thoroughly examined. Like before, the feeling passed after a moment and Apollo spoke, shifting uncertainly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"… I don't know," Phoenix answered truthfully. It would have been kind of counterproductive to make something up now. Apollo paused, nodded once and started to head off when the older man stopped him for a third time. "Just… one more thing."

Rather than ask what it was, Apollo simply tilted his head to the side.

"Why did you say you were sorry?" The raven-haired man asked. Apollo shrugged.

"Cos it matters a lot to you, that you lost, and I'm sorry for doing it."

Phoenix didn't have a reply to that. His first impression had more or less set the kid up as an idiot, but he was starting to realise there was far more to Apollo than first impressions could glean insight to. He examined the brunette again, eyeing the worn clothes, the unhealthily thin frame, the dirt and bruises and scars (so many, too many) that marred almost every inch of the gently tanned skin, the way he held himself – shoulders hunched, head down, making himself small – like he was trying to remain unnoticed, and a sudden thought flashed into Phoenix's mind. He quickly pushed it away, unwilling to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't help but wonder if Apollo kept as many secrets as Phoenix found himself keeping these days. As he did, growing uncomfortable in the silence hanging between the two of them, he said something he regretted instantly.

"Right, well… you better run off home then. Your parents will be worrying about you."

However Phoenix expected Apollo to react, he certainly didn't anticipate the kid's face to suddenly twist into a mask of anger.

"They never have before. I don't see why they should start now." Apollo said with such bitterness he practically spat the words out. Phoenix was in no doubt now that the kid was hiding things he'd rather not remember and the raven-haired man felt an abrupt sense of kinship. Other than that, the rest of his mind screeched to a halt as he tried to think of some way to apologise (_'God, you can't do _anything _right. Not even for people who show you _kindness_ you pathetic piece of shit.')_.

"I didn't… I mean…"

"Oi, I know," Apollo shook his head. Any trace of anger or sadness had disappeared. "It's fine. It ain't your fault."

Phoenix scratched the back of his head awkwardly, unnerved by the sudden switch of personas and not believing Apollo was fine for a second. He glanced behind him, saw that Alexei and Damian still hadn't exited the club (probably talking about him) and started to unzip his hoodie. Maybe it wasn't much in the way of an apology and maybe he couldn't do anything right, but maybe, on a rare occasion, he could do some things a little less wrong.

"Here." He muttered as he held the hoodie out to Apollo. The kid blinked and cocked his head to the side again.

"Uh, why are you giving me your hoodie?"

"It's a little warmer out here than it is in the club, but you're going to catch a bad cold if you walk around in just a thin t-shirt. I've got other hoodies at home," Phoenix still spoke quietly, feeling embarrassed by the way he was acting but not regretting his decision. What was it about this kid? "Besides, if the Gavinners make clothing the same way they make music, you may as well be walking around shirtless."

Apollo snorted and for the first time Phoenix saw him smile. Not a triumphant grin, but a real smile that lit up Apollo's eyes, made his face seem fuller and actually look twenty-one years old. The older man barely noticed the sudden desire to stare at the smiling face all day. Without further complaint, the kid took Phoenix's hoodie and pulled it on. It was far too big for him. He was practically drowning in fabric. But at the same time, Phoenix realised the blood red colour of the clothing suited Apollo.

"Oi, I should beat poker legends more often if I get free clothing," Apollo huddled into the hoodie with a grateful hum. "Thanks… Mr Wright."

Phoenix blinked at the formal way he was addressed. He hadn't been called that for years…

"It's Phoenix." He corrected and Apollo's smile widened.

"Thanks Phoenix."

The way Apollo said his name, like it was some sort of privilege (and without spite or hate or fear or worry, it was his _name_), caused Phoenix to awkwardly scratch the back of his head once more. He wondered how often Apollo actually interacted with people. The kid didn't seem particularly against the idea, but the raven-haired man got the impression he was seriously attention starved.

"Yeah… just make sure you put that money to good use."

"Oi, don't worry. I will. And who knows? Maybe I'll see ya around." With that determined statement stuck firmly in Phoenix's head, Apollo turned and finally left. Phoenix watched as he faded into the night, then slowly started heading back to his apartment. Despite the cold air seeping through his skin making him shiver violently and the exhaustion clinging to his eyes, Phoenix walked with a small smile on his face. It felt odd, as if the muscles in his face had forgotten how to smile, but it felt… good.

Maybe it wouldn't be as difficult to get out of bed the next morning as he'd thought.

* * *

**AN**

First off, this isn't a complete AU as you might be able to tell. The two major differences is that Phoenix never adopted Trucy, the effects of which are pretty clear in his character, and Apollo never idolised Nick as a kid. He still wanted to become a lawyer, but he doesn't recognise Phoenix or think of him as his idol. The plot will follow the basic design of AA:AJ, so this is kind of a retelling but it won't mindlessly follow the game. Athena's going to show up a lot earlier (Nick'll need a lawyer right?) and Trucy will appear at some point, though it remains to be seen if Nick will still adopt her.

If you don't like this, then go and read something else.

**Misc Section: **This is actually a list of plot points, excuses and explanations:

The plot follows (more or less) the game with changes occurring as I desire.

Phoenix used to be in a relationship with Edgeworth.

Apollo was also in a brief relationship with Clay but it won't really affect anything.

Clay will also appear a bit on in the story and the space centre will feature pretty heavily. This means some of Athena's motives and secrets will come out sooner as well.

Apollo will find out about his family (well, half of it) but I won't say when.

I have Trucy separated from Phoenix and Apollo for now because, while I love her and her relationship with Nick and Polly, it would be boring and pointless. There's far more angst to be had in removing her for now (*evil grin*), plus it means that Phoenix and Apollo will grow a lot closer a lot quicker since they have no-one else to confide in.

I'm not going to bash any character (again it's boring and pointless) so any ill thoughts towards people will be the character's viewpoint, not mine. I'm not going to bother saying Phoenix and Apollo won't be OOC, because they will be, but I've tried to make sure they're still themselves at heart and I've done my best to keep everyone else in character, so if I've failed, I hope I've at least done so in an entertaining way. All characters will be interpreted as I view them.

On the surface, Phoenix and Apollo will occasionally act like they're a lot happier than what they're thinking, but sometimes the most depressed people are the ones who are the best at pretending to be happy. They'll banter and put smiles on their faces, but it'll be a long time before they're anywhere close to being fixed.

As for pairings, Phoenix and Apollo will really be the only ones in this story. I'm planning on writing a sequel covering Dual Destinies where other pairings will start to appear (Athena/Blackquill, Clay/Starbuck, possibly more) but don't expect them in this story.

Finally, I'm planning to update on the 10th of every month so if you're going to review just to tell me to update faster, don't. The second chapter will come out on the 10th of September and it will be monthly after that. Still, like all writers, I appreciate your opinion and welcome all reviews (that aren't flames or update complaints).

The AJ:AA plot won't kick in for a little while, so for now, kick back and enjoy the angst!

~Soulkit~


	2. I Can Hold It Up But I Hold It Up Hardly

Ace Attorney: **We Are Made From Broken Parts  
**Chapter Two:  
_- I Can Hold It Up But I Hold It Up Hardly -  
_By Soulkit

* * *

"_Geez Miles, it's a _birthday party_. You're not getting knighted." Phoenix rolled his eyes in amusement as he watched the prosecutor scowl into the mirror, struggling to fix his cravat. What exactly was wrong with it, Phoenix had given up wondering. He'd only just stopped calling it 'that frilly neck thing' so he supposed the finer points of cravat arranging would still be a mystery._

"_There's no harm in looking smart." Miles replied stiffly._

"_I never said there was," Phoenix shrugged as he sat up from where he had been sprawled across Miles' expensive couch. Shoes off, of course. "Just don't want you whisked off half-way through the celebrations to protect queen and country."_

"_I'm American," The prosecutor gave Phoenix an exasperated look he knew all too well. "It's impossible for me to be knighted."_

_The spiky-haired lawyer waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, but you spent so much time in Europe that I wouldn't be surprised to find out you're an honorary Brit or something."_

_Miles snorted, showing his opinion of the idea through a single sound. Phoenix doubted it had anything to do with some sort of secret disdain for the British. The prosecutor probably thought he was being stupid, as per usual._

"_You're being fanciful." Obviously Miles Edgeworth would never use such a common word as 'stupid'. Phoenix let a small teasing smirk cross his face, one he'd learned from the very man before him._

"_Funny. You always say something like that just before I whip your ass in court."_

"_No, I don't. And you don't 'whip my ass' in court." Miles said dryly._

"_Says the guy who always loses." Phoenix sniggered. Miles glared at him in the mirror._

"_Aren't you going to get dressed, Wright?"_

_Phoenix grinned. He must have hit a nerve if he was being referred to by his last name. Then the prosecutor's words sunk in and Phoenix blinked before looking down at himself. Compared to Miles' extravagant pink ('wine red' his ass) get-up, he supposed he did seem a little informal with just a smart pair of black jeans and his usual shirt and blue suit jacket sans the tie. Then again, everyone looked informal no matter what they were wearing compared to Edgeworth. Besides, it was _Larry's _birthday party. The guy was Phoenix's best friend and the lawyer knew not to overshoot his expectations because of this. Better to place them gently on the ground and hope for the best. If anything it was Miles who was going to look out of place._

"_You're changing the subject," Phoenix replied rather than pointing any of this out. To his surprise, the prosecutor stiffened. "Wait you actually are?"_

"_Wright…" Miles groaned as Phoenix exploded with laughter._

"_Aw you don't have to be embarrassed Edgy! No-one can stand up to me in court!"_

"_Wright."_

"_I bet you lie awake at night fantasising about being as good as me." Phoenix carried on, not noticing Miles was now stalking towards him. _

"Wright._"_

"_I mean, I'd teach you my secrets but then I'd have to kill—" An undignified yelp left Phoenix as Miles dragged him to his feet and the prosecutor placed his hands on either side of Phoenix's face._

"Phoenix_."_

"_Uh… yeah?" Phoenix wondered where his breath had suddenly disappeared to._

"_Shut up."_

_He would quite happily never talk again if Miles kept kissing him like that._

Phoenix woke with a jolt, his breath sobbing in his throat and his eyes stinging. Exhaustion still tugged at his mind, seducing him back towards sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to be awake. Being conscious meant he had to remember and remembering only hurt him. Every time. Being unconscious meant he had no control over where his mind went and would probably end up remembering anyway. But his exhaustion was stronger than his fear. So he lay back and hugged the blankets to himself, giving into sleep once more.

This time, the nightmare was not a memory, but just as painful and twice as cruel.

_A strong hand gripped his throat and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He struggled blindly but other hands descended upon him and held him still._

"_Did you honestly think you could escape us forever, Wright?" A laughing voice said. A cruel, cold, familiar voice. 'Engarde…?'_

_Phoenix couldn't answer as the hand around his throat tightened and he struggled for air while he fought not to cry. He couldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing he was afraid. He could barely see their faces, but somehow he already knew who they were._

"_Poor Feenie is wondering why this is happening to him." A woman's voice hissed inches away from his face. He cringed at the sound. 'Hawthorne.'_

_He could actually feel that bitch's breath against his mouth. Fear had grasped his body, immobilising him. Although he had stopped fighting them physically, he still had to block out their vicious lies, the poison that dripped from their lips. The hand left his throat and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look into the shadowed faces of his tormentors, the faces of every single person he'd ever sent to prison. He gasped, taking in precious oxygen and it burned down his bruised throat._

"_It is because no-one loves you. No-one will ever love you again. You are just as bad as the rest of us, no better. So you can step down off your pedestal and join the ranks." A flash of an evil smile. 'Von Karma.'_

"_No…" He gasped out. It wasn't true. It wasn't…_

"_That's too bad, Feenie…"_

_The hands released him, and as fists and boots slammed into his body, Phoenix couldn't help but scream and cry and beg for someone, anyone, to come and save him. No-one came. The voices laughed louder, the pain rained down harder and their words cut deeper. No-one loved him. No-one even cared._

_He was alone._

For the second time, Phoenix bolted upright, this time clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle the scream rising in his throat, breathing heavily through his nose and unable to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks. For a moment he sat there, forcing himself to calm down and not panic. Eventually, the urge to scream subsided and he removed his hand from his mouth in order to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, swearing softly. The tears stopped a few seconds later, but the dull, stabbing ache in his chest remained.

Phoenix sighed and scrubbed his face violently. There was no point in trying to sleep now. His room was cold and condensation clouded the window. The dull red glow of his alarm clock told him it was 3:23am and he wrapped a blanket around himself as he shivered dully. The nightmare continued to cling to his thoughts no matter how much he tried to push it away. Reluctantly, Phoenix allowed his mind to analyse it as the dark, silent apartment seemed to close in around him.

Dreaming about Edgeworth (any of his old friends really, but particularly Edgeworth) was always a painful experience. It forced him to think about everything he had lost and wanted back more than anything. It reminded him that even now most of the world thought he was nothing more than a liar and he was too much of a coward to talk to the few people that didn't. It emptied something inside of him, making him want to give up this idea of proving he was innocent and crawl into a corner of his apartment to never be found again.

But he wasn't that much of a coward. He wasn't suicidal. (_'Not yet anyway…')_

The other nightmare though… He hated to admit it but it had brought up his most basic fear: being forgotten. No matter how many nightmares he had about his past cases, murderers seeking revenge and failing at proving his friends innocent, he refused to forget the faces and names of every single person he had interacted with. He would never forget his friends, but it meant remembering his enemies as well and it played hell with his subconscious. The idea that the images of people he knew – the way they looked, the way they talked, the way they smiled – could be reduced to nothing but vague recollections terrified him. So, out of principle, he forced himself to remember whenever he thought his broken mind could handle the pain his memories always brought. He did it to convince himself that people did the same for him, that there wouldn't be a day where he had no-one that cared, no-one to remind him that he was and always would be Phoenix Wright.

'_So you cut yourself off from everyone who claimed to care because _obviously _that'll make them more likely to remember you.'_

Phoenix scowled and buried his face into his arms which were resting atop his knees. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't going to drag them down to where he was now. Only he deserved that.

'_They could help you dumbass. Y'know, like they _used _to.'_

No. Phoenix wasn't going to make them deal with that. It had been hard enough pretending he was alright when everyone was so fucking sympathetic and sorry and telling him it would all work out in the end. He had despised lying to them, telling them he was eating fine, sleeping properly and had a proper job that paid enough to appease his stupid landlord. Yes, he was upset that he no longer owned Wright and Co Law Offices (_"I'll get it back one day. Just you watch."), _yes, he missed being in the courtroom even though he always had the weirdest – and sometimes dangerous – cases, (_"Come on, that's what made it fun!"_), yes, he was seriously pissed off Edgeworth was such an uptight, egotistical bastard that the idea of having a relationship with a disgraced attorney was unthinkable (_"You're embarrassed of me, aren't you?")_, but that _did not _mean he was made of fucking glass. He didn't need to be coddled and told everything was alright. And in the end it had simply became too difficult to successfully play his game of pretend anymore, to act like he was still the same man. What would happen, he wondered, if he went back to his friends and was unable to properly hide himself?

The ex-attorney almost laughed when he thought about it (not cried. He was definitely not almost crying). Edgeworth would probably lock him up in some mental hospital after listening to a very, _very _concerned Maya and a troubled, upset Pearly (he doubted Larry would say anything. The Butz probably wouldn't notice anything else was different).

The real Phoenix was terrifying, as far as the raven-haired man was concerned. He was negative and mean, constantly thinking terrible things about everyone around him when he wasn't too drunk to even notice them. Not only that, but he was horrible to himself. _'You deserve all of this and more, you lying little bitch. Deserve every angry beating those stupid poker players give you. You should be begging for it. Hell, you're not _good _enough for what they do to you. They _should _treat you far worse. It'd only be fair. After all, you're a liar, you're pathetic, good for nothing but illegal gambling and stress relief.' _

Phoenix abruptly stood, the idea of just sitting there any longer making him feel sick. The raven-haired man started scratching at his neck as he continued to lose himself in his thoughts, digging his nails into the skin roughly, again and again, reddening the area and drawing blood. It wasn't until he tripped over a discarded pair of jeans and pitched forward towards his sorry excuse for a coffee table that he snapped out of it.

He couldn't get his hands up in time, so Phoenix crashed face first into the table, a grunt forcing itself passed his lips as he rolled onto the carpet, hands on his bleeding nose. He _really _needed to pay attention to where he was going, he thought with a groan.

As he waited for the blood to stop, the ex-attorney lay there, momentarily empty of everything as he stared up at his ceiling. The night seemed to swamp the small apartment and Phoenix found himself wishing the sun would never come up. Things would be so much easier that way. He could just lie there and not have to worry about proving himself innocent or winning poker or how much he was disappointing his friends, disappointing Edgeworth…

The anger was back again, searing his ribcage and burning his throat, and Phoenix actually choked on the emotion, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to get a hold of himself. The prosecutor might once again be missing from Phoenix's life, but he wasn't gone, and while his mission to clear his name initially kept the other man's presence at bay in the two years since he last saw him, now he just felt cold and empty and haunted.

He couldn't stay here. Not in his apartment. It was too cramped. There wasn't enough air. He dressed himself haphazardly, throwing on the same jeans he had tripped over, an unwashed white t-shirt and his favourite dark grey hoodie. He didn't bother washing the blood off of his neck, face or hands. He doubted anyone would care (_'Not important enough, Phoenix, you're _not _important enough for that.')._

As soon as he burst out into the open the cold air hit him like a punch to the face. His injured nose stung as the panic that had started to grip him in the apartment slowly lost its hold. Phoenix forced his body to relax as he picked a random direction and started walking. Honestly, he had no idea where he was going but he didn't care as long as kept moving. It felt like the whole world would crumble around him if he stopped, and although he couldn't escape the thoughts swirling relentlessly around his head, at least it felt like he was going somewhere if his feet were moving.

He'd had nights like these before. Nights where his mind refused to rest until he was left curled in a ball clawing at his throat as he tried to breathe and every last pent up emotion threatened to overwhelm until he passed out and woke up feeling like he'd fallen off of a bridge again. Panic attacks he knew now. The first time it had happened he'd been convinced he was dying. But they'd occurred often enough for Phoenix to learn that being in the open streets where he was surrounded by space and open air and nothing but possibilities was far better than being trapped inside his apartment.

It didn't fix it, however. Not by a long shot. He kicked an empty can in front of him angrily, sending the offending object hurtling several feet away. It didn't alleviate his anger. His chest was burning with all the contained emotions and Phoenix scowled deeply, stalking down a random street with a violent 'don't fuck with me' attitude.

He didn't know what to do. That was the simple truth of it all. He was tired, he was lonely, he was sick of being stuck inside his own head and for the first time in his life he really, truly, _honestly _did not know what to do. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his friends. He wanted to be a lawyer. He wanted to be Phoenix Wright again.

He wanted to talk to Apollo.

Phoenix actually stopped mid-step as the thought flashed into his mind. Where the hell did _that _come from? Sure he'd thought about the younger man in the week since they'd met. He couldn't help but wonder where the kid was now, why he had needed the money and if he was looking after Phoenix's hoodie. But he had never thought about _seeing _the brunette again… had he?

"_And who knows? Maybe I'll see ya around."_

The raven-haired man resumed walking, much slower this time with his hands relaxed into his pockets and a thoughtful expression across his face. He'd been too caught up in his own thoughts, Alexei's adamant demands that they didn't tell a soul he had lost and the never-ending poker games to give Apollo much more than a passing thought. He remembered the warm feeling he had gotten seeing the kid smile from the depths of his hoodie, the guilty expression on Apollo's face when he'd accepted his winnings, and, more than anything, that strange stillness Phoenix had felt from the younger man as he'd apologised for winning (like Edgeworth but different, quiet, _dark_).

"_Oi, don't worry. I will."_

Why had he needed that money? Why had he been so bitter at the mention of his parents? What was the kid hiding? There were so many questions surrounding Apollo's sudden appearance and equally quick disappearance and Phoenix couldn't help but be intrigued the more he thought about it. And more than that…

"_They never have before. I don't see why they should start now."_

He had _liked _Apollo. The kid had shown enough of himself to hint that he was at least a little bit as fucked up as Phoenix was and he hadn't shown any fake pity or empty well-wishing. He'd simply treated Phoenix like… like another human being, not a kicked dog that needed to be coddled into near suffocation. It was rare nowadays for Phoenix to give a damn about somebody else. Hell, it was rare for him to even give a damn about himself. But something about the kid had drawn him and he realised, a little belatedly, that he _did _want to see Apollo again.

Phoenix was broken out of his small epiphany by the shadow of someone standing in front of him. He froze and stared with a sense of dread at the man before him, several years younger than Phoenix with a heavy build and a cruel smirk twisting the unpleasant face unnaturally. Glancing behind him, the ex-attorney felt his throat constrict as he saw another two men approaching him menacingly, their intent clear with every step.

"It's pretty late to be out on a midnight stroll." The man in front of him spoke conversationally. Phoenix lowered his eyes. He wasn't going to bother with pleasantries. He knew where this was going.

"I don't want any trouble." He mumbled. The man leaned into his face and sneered.

"You hear that boys? He thinks we're trouble."

"Do we look like trouble?" One of the others asked. Phoenix wondered if they really wanted him to answer that.

"You're the one who looks like trouble," The first man said, his gaze flicking down to Phoenix's bloodied nose. "We're doing the community a favour."

"You should try taking a shower next. You might get a medal." The words formed in the remnants of Phoenix's fury and he had spoken them before he even knew what he was doing. The man actually snarled and Phoenix wasn't entirely surprised when he was slugged in the stomach. Still, he crumpled to his knees and struggled not to cry out from the pain. Here he was being beaten up once again. Whether it was in his dreams, after a poker game or in a deserted street at nearly four in the morning, the same principle always applied. He couldn't show them he was terrified.

He was squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable blows to start pounding down, when from nowhere a voice rang out, angry, shockingly loud and startlingly familiar.

"Oi! What the fuck are you doing?"

०౦ംഠ०**҆****'˚'****҅**०ം◦∙ ം०**҆****'˚'****҅**०౦ംഠ०

Apollo frowned as left the vandalised phone box and his bracelet tightened suddenly against his wrist. He glanced around, breathing in the night air and found what he was looking for quickly. A man dressed in a shabby suit was walking in his direction, darting his eyes nervously to Apollo before looking elsewhere, then back again, trying hard not to show it but obviously wary. Apollo rolled his eyes and skirted around the phone box so he could cross the street. His bracelet instantly began to loosen and left a dull ache shooting through his arm.

Lifting up his sleeve, Apollo examined the chafed skin on his left wrist underneath the metal band he had worn all his life and decided it wasn't worn down enough to warrant the removal of his bracelet. He was glad. Whenever he had to carry it in his pocket he ran the risk of someone stealing it. This late at night, muggers and desperate vagrants would be in their element, and while Apollo was confident he could fight them off if they bothered him, he never wanted to risk losing his bracelet.

He trekked a confident path through the dark streets towards where he slept, skittering down alleyways and avoiding the few cars speeding down the roads with ease, all the while fiddling with the blood red sleeve of his over-sized hoodie. He'd thought about the original owner of the hoodie a lot over the past week. He hadn't meant to. He had more important things (food, sleep, survival) to worry about rather than some poker player. But the kindness Phoenix had shown him had struck Apollo and made him feel something he hadn't felt since Clay left to train to be an astronaut.

It had been strange playing his game of pretend again to the people inside the Borsht Bowl Club. Since Clay had left two years ago he hadn't had much reason to interact with people, other than begging, and he'd been out of practice. He was pretty sure he had pulled of his innocent and naïve act to the extent possible when you were gambling illegally in the middle of the night and doubted the owner of the club and the dealer had thought he was anything more than a stupid kid trying his luck for a bit of money. Phoenix, of course, was different.

He had interested Apollo from the first moment he had stepped out of the basement. It was almost funny that Phoenix thought Apollo didn't look his age when the other man looked nearly forty. Apollo had learned to look past initial perceptions, however, and guessed the older man was actually closer to thirty. His cerulean blue eyes had shone out of insomniac-ringed sockets and his raven black hair was impossibly spiky. Despite the baggy clothes, Apollo could just make out broad shoulders and a rather muscular build. But the man's face had been drawn and there was a weird feeling emanating from Phoenix (dark and dirty and _wrong_) that Apollo had felt many a time from the homeless people he often passed (and from himself whenever he got a chance to look in a mirror). It had almost made him turn away and find some other way to raise the money he needed, but it had taken months of starving more than he usually did and causing himself more pain than he thought he could endure to raise the two hundred dollars he already had and he'd known he couldn't put himself through that again, even if Phoenix's constant tensing had broken the skin around Apollo's ankle as his bracelet pinched every single time it happened.

So despite his reservations, Apollo had played and won. It had been a huge risk. He could have lost the money he already had. It was only thanks to his bracelet, fixed to his ankle rather than his wrist so nobody would notice it and accuse him of cheating, that he had won. He supposed it _was_ cheating in a way, but Apollo eventually convinced himself that it was no different than being extremely skilled in bluffing. You either had it or you didn't, and it wasn't cheating if the other person didn't.

This didn't assuage the guilt that assaulted him when the strange darkdirty_wrong _hanging around Phoenix only seemed to become more prominent and he didn't understand how the other two men in the club hadn't noticed anything, hadn't even _stopped _Phoenix as began to leave when there was obviously something _not right. _Apollo had known in that moment he couldn't let the older man disappear without saying _something _(because he knew what darkdirty_wrong_ meant and he _wasn't _going to let Phoenix leave like _that_) and had dropped his act without a second thought. He'd shoved his panic to the back of his mind (stop him stop him _stop him_) and said what he knew he needed to. Then he'd left because he'd already shown Phoenix far more than he'd ever shown anyone in months and couldn't fight the feeling telling him to run and hide.

_Of course _Phoenix would just _have_ to follow him. Apollo had managed to relax enough when the older man stopped approaching him (he didn't _want _people in his personal space) to realise that the dark and dirty and wrong was dampened once again and instead Phoenix told him he hated liars. The confession had made Apollo want to grin because it was for exactly that reason that he'd been sent back to the orphanage so many times (it's _not _going to be alright stop _lying_) and had started his game of pretend in the first place. But then Phoenix went and mentioned his parents (and even after twenty-one years Apollo was still so _angry _and _betrayed _by the two people who were supposed to _love _him) and he'd snapped. He hadn't meant to be so bitter and had almost screamed in regret as the bracelet pinched, violently broadcasting Phoenix's guilt and the return of the dark feelings hanging in a heavy haze around the older man.

Then Phoenix had given him his hoodie.

Apollo had been thrown by that. He'd been even more surprised when Phoenix made a _joke _and Apollo realised that maybe he wasn't the only one who played games of pretend. And Phoenix had looked so _happy _when Apollo had smiled at him and when the brunette called him by his first name that Apollo felt a surge of warmth whenever he thought about it.

But it scared him. There was a reason he kept himself closed off from people (you're not _worth _them they don't _want _you). For the first couple of days afterwards incident Apollo had made himself refer to the older man as 'Wright' because it kept him at a distance. He couldn't handle the thought that somebody other than Clay might actually care. Then he remembered the look on the other man's face as he called him 'Phoenix' and his resolve had crumbled. He'd meant it when he'd said he might see Phoenix around. He _wanted _to see the poker player. Once again though, his fear held him back and ended up avoiding the areas around the Borsht Bowl Club instead.

Maybe he couldn't handle the idea someone might actually care (didn't think about the warm feeling he got at the thought of someone _helping_), but it would break him to find out that Phoenix had only shown him the kindness he had because he was feeling guilty (not because you _matter_, because the he _had to_).

All of this had rolled up into a tight ball of emotions in his chest until he wanted to scream and he'd never exactly been known for his self-control. Sighing, he rubbed a hand through his dirty, deep brown tresses. Fuck he really was attention starved wasn't he? He'd only met the man once and all it had taken was for Phoenix to look happy and now Apollo wanted nothing more than to see him again.

He was starting to feel glad he hadn't told Clay about Phoenix over the phone. He would have teased Apollo for days. When he finally came back anyway.

Apollo was thankfully dragged out of his thoughts before he could start thinking about how much he missed his best friend when he turned a corner and saw three men further down the street surrounding another man, their violent intentions clear in the way they stood. He narrowed his eyes. It had always been a problem of his that he couldn't stand by and watch injustice in progress. He'd been labelled a 'problem child' early on when he couldn't stop getting into fights. Obviously they never listened when he said he hadn't started it or he had but only because the other guy was picking on someone else (you're an orphan, you're thoughts _aren't important_). It never stopped him, no matter how many foster families gave him up because of it. He understood that people were intimidated by his intelligence and his hot temper, so he had started the charade of being the harmless, naïve kid he showed to most people.

'_And that worked out so fucking perfectly didn't it?'_

The brunette scowled and started down the street. A buzz filled his system as he moved closer to the muggers and their victim. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, every breath flowing through his lungs and was completely aware of every single movement his body made. This was something he had long since come to love; the moment when he fought. It was purely physical. He didn't need to think about it. All he needed to do was follow his instincts. And it would help get some of his pent up emotions out too.

His eyes zeroed in on one of the men as he sank a fist into the other man's stomach and he crumpled instantly.

"Oi! What the fuck are you doing?" He yelled, using his Chords of Steel to get their attention pretty thoroughly. The three muggers spun round to face him, their eyes wide, surprise momentarily immobilising them and allowing Apollo to glance quickly at the person kneeling on all fours. The pre-fight excitement left for a second as Apollo recognised the impossibly spiky hair with disbelief. No time to think about that. One of the men was straightening his posture, making his admittedly impressive bulk noticeable, but Apollo spoke before the mugger could, his exhilaration returning. "Back off and you won't get hurt."

The biggest man laughed (the leader) and other two quickly joined in (and his cronies). "Well lookie here," The leader said with such overconfidence Apollo had to fight not to roll his eyes. His bracelet tightened as they refocused their attention towards him. "Looks like the guy's got a _boyfriend_."

Apollo raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be an insult? Suppose it's the best you can come up with if you're as stupid as you look."

The head mugger's face twisted with rage, making him look (Apollo though with savage glee) mildly deformed.

"I know you." One of the cronies spoke this time – blond and stocky – and Apollo glanced at him, swallowing his fear and surprise.

"Do you _really_?" He managed a sarcastic reply. "I think I'd remember a face like that."

There was no danger of the three muggers doing any more harm to Phoenix if the murderous glares from the three men and the way his bracelet was practically cutting off his circulation was anything to go by. He spared Phoenix a quick glance (he wasn't _moving _why wasn't he _getting up_?) before moving onto the balls of his feet and surreptitiously angling himself diagonally to the men now approaching him.

"You're a bum. I've seen you sleeping in that abandoned car park next to the freeway." The blond man elaborated and Apollo let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The leader let out a cruel laugh.

"Well then, let's demonstrate how we deal with disgusting, homeless, lowlife— "He swung his fist round towards Apollo's face "—scum!"

Apollo's instincts kicked in and, as he had practiced years ago, he slightly shifted his body and moved his head to the side to avoid the punch barrelling towards his left cheek. Before the mugger could register this fact, Apollo was on the inside of his defences and was lashing out with a calloused fist towards the man's jaw. It connected with a satisfying crack and the leader's head jerked backwards while he was knocked to the ground in a spray of blood as his teeth cut into his tongue. The two cronies hesitated, staring down at their friend in shock.

"Oi, is that it? I thought you were gonna teach me a lesson!" Apollo jeered. It was an old tactic, one that Apollo had employed for years and Clay had aptly named the 'NA-NA-NA-NA-NA Approach'. Regardless of what it was called, it worked perfectly, causing the two men to burn with anger. It was their anger that would make them sloppy. Apollo's anger was cold and he could use it. Their anger was hot and so it used them.

Blondie tried an off-balance kick towards Apollo's knees but the younger man crouched and grabbed the offending foot before yanking with all his strength. The mugger yelled out in pan and surprise and ended up on the ground next to his friend. Apollo ignored him as the third man rushed him and he drove his shoulder into the man's stomach, pushing him backwards and into a wall. The man didn't cry out as his breath was knocked out of him, but he did manage to swing his fist round into Apollo's unsuspecting face. The younger man reeled back as he tasted blood and was quickly grabbed from behind. The classic move at this moment would be to bring his heel up in the person's crotch, but whoever was holding this must have known because Apollo could feel them rising on their toes, thrusting their hips backward to keep Apollo from reaching their groin. Without seeing, Apollo knew it would bring their face closer, almost into Apollo's hair. So instead of kicking, he lunged upwards off the ground and jammed his head into the man's face.

Apollo whirled in time to see Blondie stagger back, his nose bleeding, gasping from surprise and pain. At the same time, the leader had snapped out his pain and was reaching for Apollo's ankles, but Apollo was too quick as adrenaline surged through him. He raised his foot and brought it down hard on the mugger's hand. The man screamed and rolled over. The other two made a desperate lunge for Apollo and the brunette almost laughed as he stepped back and they collided with each other with such force they almost knocked themselves out.

The leader lay where he was, clutching his hand. "You've broken it," He moaned before glancing up at Apollo in hate. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm your worst nightmare," The devil came out of Apollo there. He couldn't help it. And although he knew the unspoken rules of manly warfare (never strike an opponent who lay helpless on the ground), the brunette walked to the mugger and kicked him, viciously, in the ribs. The leader groaned and rolled away from him while the other two backed off in fear. "You ever think about hurting my friend, just remember what I do to people who try to hurt _me. _From then on you'd be wondering when I'd get you, and how bad it would be. It wouldn't be this bad," Apollo raised a fist that was spattered with the other men's blood. "It would be worse."

The two standing muggers grabbed their leader and dragged him to his feet before hightailing it out of there. Apollo watched them go with contempt, spat out the blood in his mouth and finally turned all of his attention to Phoenix who was still on the ground on all fours but had lifted his head up and was staring at Apollo in disbelief. Apollo took in the dried blood staining most of the older man's face below his nose and swore.

"What the fuck did they do to you?"

०౦ംഠ०**҆****'˚'****҅**०ം◦∙ ം०**҆****'˚'****҅**०౦ംഠ०

Phoenix could only stare as he heard the anger in Apollo's tone (not angry at him, angry _for _him) and it was only the thought of the younger man chasing after the three muggers that finally got his mouth to work again (don't go, _please _don't leave me alone).

"A hello would be nice." He replied sarcastically, but not unkindly as he felt happiness surge through him at the sight of the younger man; everything from the unwashed tresses of dark hair, to the defiant brown eyes, to the split lip and rather impressive bruise swelling on his cheek to the blood red hoodie that Apollo was still wearing. Phoenix couldn't help but grin as he got unsteadily to his feet, his muscles aching the way they normally did after his panic attacks, his stomach protesting painfully and his nose stinging against the cold air. Apollo looked at him and his bloodied face sceptically and Phoenix rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment as he finally answered the kid's question. "Uh… they weren't the ones who did this to me."

"Who did then?" Apollo looked positively murderous and Phoenix had to fight not to smile wider (because _see, _there _are _people who care) despite his humility.

"I… kind of fell. Face first into my coffee table."

Apollo looked at him slack-jawed for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.

"Hey!" Phoenix said indignantly but somehow he knew Apollo's mirth wasn't directed _at _him. This was made a certainty when Apollo waved his hands and quickly apologised.

"Oi, I'm sorry. It's just I have a friend who's pretty clumsy and falls on his face all the time." He sniggered and for the first time since the younger man had come to his rescue, Apollo seemed to relax and Phoenix found his over-tensed muscles loosening as well.

"Thanks." The ex-attorney said quietly. He had hardly been able to believe it when the kid had appeared out of the shadows to stand up for him. "How did you do that anyway?"

"Do what?" Apollo looked genuinely confused.

"Fight like that."

"Ah, well," Now it was Apollo's turn to look slightly embarrassed as he awkwardly rubbed his left wrist. "I got into a lot of fights when I was younger and I picked up a few things." He shrugged. "Besides, on the streets it's fight or die. I chose to fight."

Phoenix could believe that. He'd learned a few things himself from the fights he'd had in the Hydeout. But the person he'd watched fight off those three muggers hardly even looked like the kid he had met only a week ago. Or had he? Once again, Phoenix remembered the strange stillness he had sensed off the younger man when he first apologised for winning. If he concentrated, he could still see it, slightly dampened, hiding in Apollo's eyes. All the same… "But there were _three _of them."

Apollo snorted. "Three assholes who did _not _know how to fight," He fixed Phoenix with a sudden serious stare. "Oi, what I wanna know is what you're wandering around at four in the morning for."

Inwardly Phoenix groaned. This wasn't exactly the conversation he wanted to have (_'Don't want anyone to know how _wrong_ you are, huh Wright?'_). But he supposed he owed Apollo a little bit of truth. "I… couldn't sleep. Nightmares." He tried to sound nonchalant but failed with a rather spectacular tremor in his voice. Thankfully, Apollo didn't comment. He only groaned in sympathy.

"I hate those. As if I don't have enough problems when I'm awake," The brunette ran a hand through his hair, completely unaware he had said what Phoenix had thought many a time after waking up from one. "You okay to go back now? It's not exactly warm out here."

Apollo shivered inside his hoodie as if for emphasis and Phoenix raised an eyebrow. "And what are you going to do? I mean, you don't have anywhere to go…" Phoenix forcibly stopped himself. He wasn't overly shocked to find out Apollo was homeless. He'd suspected as much last week and it explained a lot – the state of his clothes and appearance, the reason he needed so much money, his bitterness towards his parents. It didn't mean the kid would be happy talking about it.

"Oi, I've managed for five years, I'm sure I'll survive somehow. At least it ain't raining."

_Now _Phoenix was surprised. "You were homeless when you were sixteen?" He blurted out and mentally kicked himself immediately afterwards (that was _Apollo's _business not _his,_ he didn't _matter enough _to know).

"Sorry, didn't know there was an age restriction for being on the streets," Apollo rolled his eyes then he shrugged. "I ran away to be honest. Some things you can't fight against."

Phoenix could only stand there and look at Apollo as once again it crossed his mind just how _young _the brunette looked. It scared him. But at the same time, he understood what the kid was saying. So he told him as much in a quiet voice. "I know how that feels."

Apollo nodded in silent acceptance, eyes distant and haunted. In the blink of an eye, however, a grin had replaced his forlorn expression as he cocked his head to the side and buried his hands in his pockets. "Oi, just cos I have to suffer the cold doesn't mean you do. So c'mon, where do ya live?"

Pushing down the guilt starting to squirm in his gut (because Apollo was a good person, it wasn't _fair_), Phoenix turned in the direction of his apartment and silently started walking. He didn't want to go yet. He'd wanted to see Apollo and now that the kid was right there walking beside him, he wanted to keep talking. Why was it so easy to relax around the younger man? To push his dark thoughts to an obscure corner of his mind and put a smile on his face? But Apollo's quiet satisfaction was enough to stop him from arguing. And it seemed like a twisted form of mockery to deny his soft bed when Apollo didn't even have so much as a roof over his head.

"So, how's the poker world doing? You still beating everyone who comes through the door?"

Phoenix glanced over at the brunette, wondering about how content Apollo seemed even though they were heading towards the security and relative warmth of the ex-attorney's apartment. Was he going to walk Phoenix right to the door? How could he make himself go so close to something he didn't – couldn't – have? "Almost," He replied dryly and Apollo winked at him. "My boss was pretty pissed off when I went in the next day. He more or less said that if you weren't going to tell anyone then I wasn't either."

Apollo sniggered. "He seemed like the type – proud and Russian."

"So just proud?" Phoenix grinned. Again. Why did he keep doing it around this kid? Apollo gasped theatrically.

"Stereotypes, Mr Wright? And about your boss, no less? I never took you for such a braggart!" He said in an overly posh voice and Phoenix rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mr…" The ex-attorney frowned as he realised something. "Uh, I don't know your last name."

"Don't have one," Apollo replied cheerfully. How could he be so happy? ('_Maybe he isn't. You aren't the only one with secrets.'_). "When I get off the streets I can pick whatever one I want, I guess."

"That's… kind of cool actually."

"You're telling me, flaming-bird-boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Phoenix glared at him. Apollo returned it with a mischievous grin.

"I'm just saying some people would really like the ability to choose whatever name they wanted."

"Says the Greek god in charge of _music_."

"Oi!"

How was it so easy to settle into this playful banter? Less than twenty minutes ago Phoenix had been teetering on the edge of a full blown panic attack, swamped in dark thoughts and quite happy to lie down on the ground and let the shit be kicked out of him. Now he was being teased, and teasing _back, _as if he'd been doing it all his life. And even more terrifying than that, it felt _real. _He wasn't forcing his smiles, even if the out-of-practice muscles ached and his nose throbbed each time one crossed his face. His body was relaxed and his mind didn't feel as clouded or broken as it normally did. He didn't feel _happy _(he didn't deserve that), but he didn't feel as sad, and even that was such an alien feeling that Phoenix was surprised he was being so calm about the situation.

The fact remained he was so alone (always always _always_). He hadn't connected with anyone like this for a long time and it felt so _good _to interact with someone who didn't expect anything back from him that he almost wanted to cry. He was used to pasting a too wide smile on his face while inwardly he screamed. He was used to forcing a laugh while his soul cried inside. He was used to pulling the broken pieces of his mind together in a semblance of sanity and labelling it 'normal', knowing that later when he was alone and nobody but his empty apartment could be a witness he would let himself shatter into a thousand twisted pieces of twisted memories. He was used to _pretending._

Apollo didn't need him to pretend though. The younger man didn't expect him to act in a certain way. He simply took Phoenix as he was. And maybe Apollo didn't know the man Phoenix had become (dark and dirty and _wrong_). Maybe he would never know. For now it wouldn't matter.

"_Some things you can't fight against."_

They reached Phoenix's apartment building far too soon. Phoenix looked up at the dark building, noting the way the sky was lightening as he did so. It didn't seem as daunting to return to his cramped apartment now that the night was retreating. He still didn't want to go up.

"Thank you for your escort." He said to Apollo as he stopped, not quite able to inject the same cheer into his voice as he had into their previous bantering.

"Oi, I couldn't leave you for any muggers could I?" Apollo replied sincerely with a warm smile. Then he blinked and looked around. "Wait, you live here?"

"…Yeah?" Phoenix frowned in confusion which only grew when the kid's grin widened. But then Apollo waved a hand and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

Phoenix regarded him for a moment before deciding to do as Apollo said. They stood for a moment in silence, then Phoenix turned and placed a hand on the front door to his building (don't go don't be _alone_) and heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. He didn't look back. Instead he leaned his head against the entrance and murmured quietly.

"Why did you save me?"

It was something he had been wondering ever since Apollo had appeared to chase off the three muggers. Three muggers that could easily have had weapons on them. That easily could have _hurt _Apollo and it would have been Phoenix's _fault _because he could barely spend a night in his apartment without breaking down.

"I said didn't I? You're my friend," Phoenix spun his head round so fast his neck cricked. Apollo held the ex-attorney's gaze and his voice was steady. "As much as you can be, I guess, when I've only met you twice."

Friend. Phoenix lowered his gaze. The word sounded suddenly strange, foreign and filled with countless possibilities. _'But you don't believe that, do you? You don't _have _friends. You push them all away to 'protect' them when really you don't deserve to be a part of their lives.'_

"Phoenix. People can only make you feel small if you let them." Phoenix wondered if that strange stillness in those brown eyes really did let Apollo read his thoughts. Apollo didn't look like a kid as he spoke. In fact he looked old beyond his years.

"Do you really think it's so easy?" The raven-haired man asked in a low voice. He felt pathetic admitting it, but Apollo was right. He always let people make him feel small.

"I know it's not." Apollo said just as quietly and once again Phoenix got the sense that he wasn't the only one who hid inside a game of pretend.

"You looked terrifying, y'know." He was stalling for time now, desperate to stay in this strange little meeting at four in the morning where for the first time in seven years he actually felt like himself again.

"Fighting those guys?" Apollo snorted. "I know people like them. Beating them down is only the first fight. You've gotta be terrifying, you've gotta make them afraid of you, and then you win all the other fights too. They won't bother you again." Apollo lowered his eyes and began rubbing his left wrist. "Are… are you afraid of me?"

Phoenix's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No! I just… I'm more… impressed."

Apollo looked back up at him in disbelief. "I don't think anyone's said _that _before." He laughed. Phoenix couldn't help smiling too. Then his insecurities reared their head and he couldn't stop himself asking what he did next.

"You said… I was you're friend?" He hated how hopeful he sounded.

"Oi, you never had a friend before?" Apollo asked embarrassedly and, to Phoenix's surprise, he started rambling, "I get it if you don't want to be friends with me cos I'm not exactly the most stable of people but I just thought since you gave me your hoodie and you haven't told me to fuck off yet you might… I mean, you're a good person and—"

"I'm what?" Phoenix interrupted. Apollo cocked his head to the side. Then his expression softened.

"You're a good person, Phoenix. I can tell. Why d'you think I'm still talking to you?"

Phoenix instantly tried to push down the feeling of happiness that bubbled up in his chest, although he couldn't stop the grin splitting across his face from ear to ear. He knew he shouldn't feel as happy as he did, knew that there had to be a catch (because he _wasn't _a good person), but he couldn't ignore the feeling of such a foreign emotion building up inside of him.

"Well I guess I can accept your friendship then," He teased and Apollo sputtered indignantly.

"Geez that's the last time I give _you_ a compliment," Apollo threw his hands up exasperatedly then glanced down the street. "Oi, I better get going so you can catch up on your beauty sleep. You look like a raccoon with those dark circles around your eyes."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. "What about you? You're as skinny as a rat. I might lose you if you turn to the side."

"You don't think this hoodie makes me look fat?" Apollo put his hands on his hips and jutted his hip out to one side with a pout on his face.

"You look deformed when you do that."

"Keeps the paedophiles away." Apollo gave him a wink and a cheerful wave and, before Phoenix could respond, he bounded off in the direction of People Park. Phoenix stared at the space Apollo had been occupying just moments before and swallowed thickly. The kid had been on the streets for five years. He'd be fine. So why was Phoenix so worried?

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and winced when his fingers brushed against the gouges he had scraped into his neck earlier. He'd forgotten about them. He'd have to do something about it in the morning. So much for his good mood…

But just as Phoenix entered the door to his building, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Oi! Make sure you clean up before you leave your apartment this time!"

It took Phoenix a couple of seconds to respond, "Yeah, we can't have someone unwashed running around the streets, can we?"

Apollo's leaving laughter rang in his ears and echoed a smile onto his face, his good mood returning as he climbed the stairs, entered his apartment and fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. This time, there were no dreams waiting for him and he slept soundly through the remainder of the night.

* * *

**Holy crap. I did not expect this chapter to be so long. And even with that I feel like it's rushed in places. Ah well, hope you enjoy!**

**A couple of familiar characters are showing up next chapter… **


	3. Trauma Triggers

Ace Attorney: **We Are Made From Broken Parts  
**Chapter Three:  
_- Trauma Triggers -  
_By Soulkit

* * *

There were a lot of things Athena Cykes felt she would never understand; for example, why the sky was blue, why clouds looked like marshmallows, why her hearing was so much more acute than a normal person's, why her mother used to make her wear those big headphones, or her new boss' obsession with things being completed to perfection. Mostly, though, Athena couldn't understand how she got into hopeless situations.

As an example, there was the current situation of her paperwork.

Oh, sure, after her boss's rather hardcore speech when he employed her about defending the innocent and helping save lives, it hadn't been so bad. For the first few days she had found it fun and exciting: she showed off her analytical psychology with her boss' clients, learned the differences between handling a drug charge and a murder charge and an assault charge, the two main rules of evidence law and even accompanied her boss to the detention centre a couple of times.

All of that had been fairly simple, but perfectly understandable. Even going over the finer points of court etiquette had been no problem.

Then her boss had told her she should start coming in for the same hours he did. Before he had been seemingly content to let her settle in before unleashing the horror that was their irregular work schedule, and now she found herself having to wake up at five in the morning to make it to the office at six. Then there would be no reprieve in the evening since her boss _always _stayed late to 'stay on top of things'. She didn't even have weekends off!

It was only through sheer determination that she had made it through the next week.

The following few days saw her being put through rigorous tests by her boss. He put her through mock-ups of cross-examinations, berating her when she focussed on the wrong thing and penalising her with less break times if she made too many mistakes. During what were _supposed _to be her breaks she was made to do what seemed a never-ending supply of paperwork. Expenses, referrals, evidence lists, requisition forms, court records to be filed, request forms to be signed and a whole avalanche of other pieces of paper that Athena was pretty sure no-one had mentioned during her training in Europe. She swore she was going to get carpal tunnel before she even had a chance to actually defend someone in court.

Apparently her boss didn't believe in going easy on her. Or, at least, not what a sane person would consider 'going easy'.

So, Athena dearly wanted to know what in the hell had ever possessed her to put herself in this damn situation. Okay so she knew perfectly well why she had become a lawyer but it didn't mean she had to like it! Trying to ignore the steadily darkening sky outside the window and the desire for her bed, she instead made light of the situation by reasoning she only had three more things to finish before she could leave for the night.

Waking up at ungodly hours in the morning was a cakewalk compared to the torture of paperwork.

The first form she simply had to sign at the bottom which she did with much relief in the elegant handwriting that had been pounded into her (_"What lawyer writes in chicken scratch?"). _She put it to the side to be filed later, then focussed on the letter of request currently still to be attended to and sighed when she realised her boss wouldn't be able to take the case. This meant she would have to write out a reply instead of just handing it to her boss and letting him take care of it. Damn it. More writing.

A small problem presented itself, however, when she realised she couldn't find a piece a blank piece of paper. Despair filled her. The day was never going to end it seemed. She was doomed to spend all night here.

"_Doom and despair!" _Widget shouted cheerily and Athena couldn't help but laugh, fingering the small item round her neck fondly. The small AI computer was so in-tune with her emotions it often shouted out her feelings. It was embarrassing sometimes, but it was also her constant companion. And one of only two things her mother had ever given her.

Athena scowled and shook her head out of those thoughts. Thinking about that wasn't going to help her. She needed to focus on the now.

'_Maybe the boss has some spare paper,'_ she thoughtfully rested her chin on her pointer finger. Honestly, why couldn't they just use the computer? It would be so much easier, but noooo, _hard evidence _was apparently _everything_, so all of their records had to be handled in the real world instead of the digital one.

She bounded into her boss' empty room (he'd left a little while ago) and eyed the well-kept shelves for anything that might resemble something she could write on. Maybe in his desk? She hovered beside it for a second, wondering if her boss would yell at her for looking through it. It wasn't like there was anything he needed to hide from her she reasoned and happily opened up the first drawer. Nothing of use in there. The second drawer was just as unserviceable. The third drawer, however, was locked.

This made her frown. Why would this one be locked and not the others? And stranger than that, she couldn't see a keyhole to lock it with. Maybe it was just stuck? She tested her theory by pulling on it harder but gave up when her wrist protested painfully. This paperwork was going to make her hand fall off. She was sure of it.

Deciding that it wasn't worth it (because who kept blank paper in a locked drawer?), she abandoned the mysterious compartment and moved to the filing cabinet where lo and behold, there was a whole bundle of paper sitting innocently on top.

"_Yay!_" Widget sounded while Athena quickly moved back to her own desk to finish her work and _finally _go home. _'What a Saturday night this turned out to _be' she lamented with an exaggerated eye roll.

But the locked drawer remained at the back of her mind and she continued to wonder what Mr Gavin wanted with a drawer that didn't even open.

०౦ംഠ०**҆****'˚'****҅**०ം◦∙ ം०**҆****'˚'****҅**०౦ംഠ०

"Oi, what the hell is in this stuff?" Apollo asked through violent coughs as he finally swallowed his first mouthful of noodles. It was probably going to be his last too. The stuff was so hot and salty he was pretty sure he'd be dead before he could finish.

"That there, kiddo, is the saltiest bowl of noodles you'll ever have!" Guy Eldoon proclaimed proudly and finished off the declaration with a short tune from his harmonica. Apollo stared at the man standing across the counter and wondered if he had made a serious error in listening to that random hobo who told him about this place.

He was sitting in a noodle stand called (wait for it) Eldoon's Noodles which was apparently well-known within the homeless community for its cheap prices. While Apollo couldn't argue with that, he had his doubts about the quality of the food. At least Mr Eldoon was honest, if a little _too _enthusiastic, about its saltiness. If Apollo squinted, he could actually _see _tiny particles of salt floating in the soup around his noodles where it had failed to dissolve. He grimaced, well aware that Mr Eldoon was watching him closely, and tentatively took a much smaller bite than he had the first time. It still made him want to throw up, but he swallowed it all the same. He'd paid for it after all, and he'd eaten much worse.

Obviously satisfied that his customer was eating, Mr Eldoon moved back into the small kitchen to tend to his soup pot. While he did, Apollo surreptitiously slid his hand into his pocket to check for his money. All eight dollars and fifty two cents were still there as far as he could tell. Not that anyone could have logically pickpocketed him in the time since he'd last had money out to pay for the abomination he was forcing down his throat, but it paid to be paranoid.

"So what's yer story?"

Apollo jumped when Mr Eldoon spoke and almost upturned the bowl of noodles all over himself. He glanced up at the stand owner and cocked his head to the side. The way the man had spoken, quiet and serious, suggested a genuine curiosity that confused Apollo. Mr Eldoon wasn't exactly your typical person to begin with. He was a thin, bony man with a nose like a ski-slope and he wore a hat shaped like a noodle bowl complete with fake noodles hanging down like hair. His enthusiasm for noodles was also slightly creepy and Apollo decided it was probably better for his health if he didn't argue with it. So to hear such honest interest for Apollo's situation was rather disconcerting.

"Um, what?"

"Salt got to yer head, boy?" Mr Eldoon eyed him as though this was an actual possibility and Apollo found himself running a hand through his hair (like _that _would somehow help). "How'd someone as young as you end up living on the streets?"

"Why does everyone keep feeling the need to point my age out to me?" Apollo grumbled. "I'm not _that _young."

"Yer young enough fer people to notice," Mr Eldoon observed and the brunette sighed. "I take it you have someone you can talk to then?"

Apollo's confusion grew ('_Why does he care?'_). "… Not really. I mean, I have a friend I talk to on the phone when I've got enough money, but he's in another state right now," He grinned, always willing to brag about Clay even if his friend was far more modest about it. "He's gonna be an astronaut y'know!"

Mr Eldoon, unfortunately, didn't close in on this information the way most people did and Apollo shifted uncomfortably under the man's unwavering gaze. _This _was why Apollo tended to stay away from people. His vagrancy opened up too many questions, questions he'd rather not think about for as long as he lived, but of course those were the questions everyone wanted answers to.

"So you don't have anyone?" The older man insisted and Apollo lowered his gaze. He tried another mouthful of his noodles and took his time swallowing them before finally answering.

"I guess not."

Mr Eldoon sighed and pulled his noodle hat lower down his head. "Y'know, kiddo, I've seen a lot of people in yer position come through here. Some running fer reasons that are their own, some who just had bad luck, some with more sinister afflictions… but y'know what usually makes 'em croak in the end?"

"Salt intake?" Apollo couldn't help but joke. Mr Eldoon didn't smile.

"It's loneliness," The stand owner waved a ladle at Apollo with a wise expression on his face. "People need a reason to keep living. With me, it's my noodles and the people I feed with 'em. People on the street've got nothing but each other. And if you don't let someone in, it doesn't take long fer you to give up."

As Mr Eldoon spoke, Apollo felt anger heating up inside his body. Never to whine; to accept what came; to wait for better; to take what you could; to let no-one, not even yourself, know how close to giving in you were: these were the principles he lived by, and they didn't include the need for other people. Other than the few years he'd had with Clay he had almost always been on his own, and even after his best friend had left he'd seen no reason to change this. He wasn't some broken morsel of humanity. He was _alive_ and (even though there was no-one around to see) he would prove that he was strong.

He didn't need to be pestered with kindness.

But Apollo didn't say any of this. He didn't even show it. Instead, he put a too-wide smile on his face and nodded once. "Oi, I'll remember that the next time I feel like jumping off a bridge."

His sarcasm did him no credit and he turned back to his noodles as Mr Eldoon narrowed his eyes. Apollo ignored the man's annoyance. Accepting Mr Eldoon's advice would be like admitting he was grateful, and he knew if he was ever grateful to anyone his confidence in himself would be destroyed.

This was the reason Apollo was starting to worry about his desire, once again, to see Phoenix Wright. Two days had passed since that night with the muggers. The bruise on his cheek was starting to tinge green and his split lip had healed enough to not be bothered by the salt, but every time they ached he was reminded of that man and the _stupid _moment when he'd proclaimed them friends. At the time it hadn't seemed stupid at all. He'd been too caught up in his happiness at seeing Phoenix again that he'd spent most of the strange meeting speaking without thinking, too captivated by his emotions that he hadn't used his head (_'Y'know, the thing that kept us _alive _all these years'_).

It wasn't that he didn't want to be friends with Phoenix. But like accepting Eldoon's advice, it would be as if he was admitting some sort of defeat, that he _did _need someone. He already had Clay. That had been enough since he was fifteen and it should be enough now.

But it wasn't. That was the problem. Otherwise he wouldn't be at Eldoon's Noodle stand right now (seriously, how often did he follow the advice of other hobos?). It was close to Phoenix's apartment for the moment and, while he might not admit it out loud, barely even admitted it to himself, he had come in the hopes of running into the older man.

Apollo sighed and stirred his noodles around with the cheap chopsticks in his hand. His eyes caught sight of the bruises around his knuckles and he absently ran his thumb over them, the broken skin protesting angrily against the attention.

"You better eat that quickly or it'll get cold, kiddo." Mr Eldoon muttered.

"Maybe that'll make it easier to swallow." Apollo shot back but he took another mouthful anyway.

Mr Eldoon sighed dramatically and blew another short tune on his harmonica before speaking. "You just don't understand, do ya kiddo? You can't deny the mouth-watering, sweet perfection of my salty noodles!"

Apollo just stared at him blankly, chopsticks half-way to his open mouth, caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. Mr Eldoon threw up his arms and boiling hot soup sprayed over the roof from the ladle the stand owner had evidently forgotten was in his hand.

"My family's been noodle men for generations!" Mr Eldoon proclaimed and Apollo wondered if the man would chase him if he ran. "Fifteen fathers passing the noodle to fifteen sons… Salty broth runs through these veins boy! It's my purpose! My raison d'être!"

Apollo flinched as his bracelet suddenly tightened. _'Wha…?'_

"This noodle stand here is a legend, kiddo," Mr Eldoon fondly patted the side of the stand and the bracelet loosened, but only slightly. "So you better show it respect!"

The brunette was about to apologise profusely lest he get a ladleful of boiling soup in his face when another, familiar voice sounded through the small stall.

"No offence, dude, but you're wack."

Apollo ducked as a fork was thrown at his head. "Oi! I didn't say anything!"

The vagrant and the noodle stand owner turned to look at the new arrival – although Apollo already knew who it was and felt his gut sink slightly. Sure enough, he was met with the sight of a bright yellow and purple, eye-offending jacket, brown hair dyed blond and orange in parts at the front to resemble a fox, and a Bad Badger t-shirt that could only belong to one person.

Wocky Kitaki.

"Yo shawty!" Wocky called out cheerfully. Under the light of the lampposts and the noodle stand he looked like some kind of deranged cartoon character. Apollo had to take in the sudden appearance of the younger man for a second before he replied with an eyebrow arched.

"Shawty?" The word sounded stupid and foreign in Apollo's accent. It sounded stupid and foreign in Wocky's accent but Apollo wasn't going to say that to his face. "Oi, I'm older than you."

"But you're shorter," Wocky winked and sat down on the stool next to Apollo's. He made a movement as if to throw his arm over Apollo's shoulder but stopped himself at the last second, instead awkwardly moving the flailing arm to scratch the back of his head. The abashed look on Wocky's face was as good an apology as Apollo knew he was going to get, so he shrugged off the uncomfortable exchange and watched silently as Wocky waved at Mr Eldoon, who was still glaring at the nineteen-year old Kitaki, and ordered. "Two bowls to take away, dude!"

As Wocky spoke, Apollo finally noticed the second person: a small woman with chestnut brown hair and large, innocent brown eyes who was looking around the noodle stand with a strange expression on her face. For a moment Apollo thought it was disgust, but it softened a second later and Apollo was left wondering if he imagined it.

"Hello." She greeted politely as she took a seat beside Wocky and gently placed a hand on his arm. Wocky gave her one of his infamous grins that lit up his face like a five-hundred watt bulb. Apollo could only stare dumfounded and nod in response as Mr Eldoon set about making more noodles, his glare never wavering.

"You looking at my girl, Pollio?" Wocky snapped his fingers in front of the brunette's face and Apollo blinked, inwardly groaning at the name. Wocky thought it sounded Italian. Apollo had never bothered pointing out not all Italians were part of the mafia.

"Oi, I just… I'm… happy for you?" He tried and Wocky beamed while the woman laughed a high tinkling laugh. Truthfully, Apollo was wondering who the hell would ever want to start a relationship with someone like Wocky.

"You should be, Pollio!" The Kitaki threw an arm around the woman's shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Apollo's bracelet tightened and he wondered why the woman's smile suddenly became so strained. "This here's my fallen angel, love of my life, son."

The woman giggled again (fake?) and Apollo cocked his head to the side. "And she is…?"

"Alita," The woman spoke for the first time as she pulled out of Wocky's one-armed embrace. "Alita Tiala."

"Uh, I'm Apollo." He introduced himself and Alita smiled in reply. It was hard not to get taken in by the innocence of it. She looked twenty-one, but she seemed younger.

"You know them, kiddo?" Mr Eldoon spoke up and Apollo winced at the suspicion lacing his tone. He sighed and ran a hand through his dirty brown tresses, deciding it was easier to just explain outright.

"I, uh… I did a couple of jobs for the Kitakis a few months ago," He admitted and quickly held up his hands defensively as Mr Eldoon's expression became murderous. "Oi, it was a few months ago! I didn't have a choice! And the worst thing I did was breaking in to some old warehouse half-way out of town!"

"Don't sell yourself short, Pollio," Wocky added cheerfully. "You're a natural at lock picking."

Apollo groaned and smacked a hand onto his forehead. _'Dammit Wocky…' _To his surprise, Mr Eldoon burst out laughing. "Got caught by the twisted noodle of fate, did ya?" He crossed his arms and nodded sympathetically. "A few of my customers have been roped in by the Kitakis as well. Don't worry yerself."

"What's to worry about?" Wocky looked between the two men in confusion but neither felt like giving an answer. In fact, it was Alita who finally answered him.

"Not everyone is as… accepting of your family's activities as _I _am." She explained softly. Wocky snorted. Apollo noticed the emphasis she put on the 'I' but decided not to comment as Wocky set off on a rant about gangsters, living the sweet life, king of the hill… The brunette stopped listening halfway through.

Apollo had grown used to Wocky over the times they'd interacted during Apollo's various 'jobs'. At first the teenager had worried him the same way Phoenix was worrying him now. But Apollo had quickly realised that Wocky was different: he could be laughed at. He was a show-off, too caught up in his fantasy life of cops and robbers and declaring the vagrant his 'partner in crime' to be any real problem to Apollo. Wocky had never tried to be kind and for this reason Apollo had simply accepted his existence the same way he accepted the cold winter nights. It was simply another thing he had to survive.

Phoenix, on the other hand, was dangerously close to being something like kin. The man obviously had more problems than he let on (darkdirty_wrong_) and Apollo wasn't sure how to treat him. Distancing himself would be easy enough, there were plenty of places to hide in a city, but the guilt he would feel for leaving Phoenix would only bring him back. The only comfort he could find in his mess of emotions was that Phoenix had never tried to bother him with kindness either. He had given Apollo the hoodie, but other than that had simply talked to Apollo. He had accepted going back to his apartment rather than staying outside in the cold and he hadn't offered to give Apollo anything else. This, more than anything, was why Apollo wanted to keep seeing Phoenix.

The brunette sighed. Maybe he _should _tell Clay about Phoenix. His friend was always much better at these things than Apollo. And Clay was safe. Accepting that friendship never made him give in. He never relied on Clay for anything other than comradeship and, like Phoenix, his friend had never offered anything else. This thing with Phoenix didn't have to be any different.

While all these thoughts were swirling in Apollo's head, Wocky had been regaling Mr Eldoon with the story of how he and Alita had met. Apollo hadn't paid attention in the slightest and was glad he hadn't if the look on the stand owner's face was anything to go by. He hid his amused smile under the pretext of taking another mouthful of noodles and grimaced when he realised they were cold.

"Told ya so." Mr Eldoon reprimanded, looking thoroughly relieved he had found a distraction from Wocky's ramblings. Apollo made a face at him (_'Idiot, Apollo, you can't waste food'_) and handed him back the bowl.

"Yeah, yeah…" He muttered and he made to stand up when Wocky suddenly spoke.

"Yo, I'll buy you another bowl," Wocky grinned but Apollo didn't miss the way his eyes flicked to Alita (wasn't doing it for Apollo, of course not, he didn't _matter_).

"I'm fine, Wocky." He replied but the wannabe gangster insisted.

"Oh c'mon. You're barely keeping it up out here, you feel me?"

"No. I don't feel you. That's Alita's job."

Mr Eldoon made a strange coughing noise as Wocky cocked his head in confusion. "Oh come on, Pollio. You seriously gonna deny yourself a meal?"

Apollo ground his teeth but a little voice told him to accept the offer. How often did he get free food that wasn'tout of a dumpster? Eldoon's noodles were probably even worse for his health considering the amount of salt in them, but the fact remained he was still hungry (_'not giving in just surviving'_). Besides, this wasn't kindness. Once again, Wocky was only showing off.

"No, I suppose not." He sighed and Wocky slapped his hand on the table.

"One more bowl, old man!"

"I am _not _an old man."

"You sure look it."

"_Wocky_." Alita reprimanded and to Apollo's surprise, Wocky shut up. He looked over at Alita with a newfound respect.

"Oi, how the hell did you get him to shut up? Only his mother can do that!" Apollo exclaimed as Wocky turned red and Alita laughed. Again. It was slightly unnerving the way she kept doing that. The way his bracelet pinched every time she did wasn't helping.

"Anyway!" Wocky said loudly before Alita could reply. "How have you been, Pollio?"

"Better, now that I don't have to spend all the money I get paying back your family." Apollo couldn't keep the moody edge out of his tone. He decided he was entitled to it though. So what if the Kitakis were gangsters infamous for their violence and ability to evade the police? So what if he was lucky he wasn't dead? It wasn't his fault that drug deal had gone wrong and the Kitaki at the scene had lost four hundred dollars' worth of speed. Hell, he hadn't even known what he was delivering! He never would have done it if he'd known (even if he would have gotten a hundred dollars out of it). He was homeless. He didn't want to ruin lives.

That incident a month ago in December had marked the end of Apollo's relationship with the Kitakis. He'd always been a bit wary of going near them, but at the time he hadn't been left with a choice. It was that or starve and since it was only a message he'd had to deliver to the Rivales family, he'd caved in. That had been in October and, slowly but surely, the Kitakis had roped him into doing more things until finally, two and a half months later, he was told to deliver a bag to someone at a certain time. He'd done so, and then left none the wiser to what he was delivering until Plum Kitaki (Wocky's mother, who Apollo was oddly fond yet terrified of at the same time) found him, told him it was his job to replace the money that was lost that night and that they would no longer be 'requiring his services'. Obviously they'd rather blame some hobo for the mistake than one of their own.

Hence why he had ended up at the Borsht Bowl Club and met Phoenix Wright.

'_Huh… maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.'_

"Yeah, sorry about that," Wocky shrugged and didn't sound very sorry at all as Apollo shook himself out of his thoughts. "At least you only had to pay with money."

Apollo didn't want to think about what other 'payment' the Kitakis might have asked for. "It's fine," He replied automatically as Mr Eldoon set a new bowl of noodles down in front of him and handed a takeaway bag to Wocky. "Oi, where are you going with those anyway?"

"Back to my crib to let my family meet my angel," Wocky smiled dreamily then shook himself. "Just got out of hospital and it's too late for my mom to make anything so I'm bringing dinner back." He waved the bag at Apollo as the brunette frowned.

"Hospital?"

"Yeah I got shot."

"You got _what?_" Apollo had just been about to eat a mouthful of noodles and it was a good thing he didn't or they would have been sprayed all over Mr Eldoon. Only Wocky would be so nonchalant about something like this.

"No big dilly, son!" Wocky laughed as he pulled down his shirt to reveal bandages criss-crossing his chest. "It's all sorted now!"

Apollo was about to respond when his bracelet tightened. _Hard. _He somehow managed not to jump but he couldn't stop his eyes instantly moving to Alita as she became very interested on the ring stationed upon her left hand. What the hell?

"… catch up but we gotta get going. I'll see you around, Pollio." Apollo snapped his attention back to Wocky as the teenager stood obviously waiting for a response.

"Y-yeah." He managed and, with a final wave, Alita and Wocky were gone. "The hell just happened?" He murmured to himself.

"You alright, kiddo?" Mr Eldoon asked and Apollo nodded absently. Nothing could ever be normal with Wocky could it? With another sigh, he rubbed his wrist and winced as he felt the skin break underneath the sleeve of his red hoodie. After making sure Mr Eldoon was otherwise occupied, he lifted up the sleeve and examined the abused flesh. He didn't think it was too bad until he caught sight of the traces of blood staining his bracelet.

His bracelet never used to make him bleed. Ever since he had started living on the streets and lost so much weight, however, the bracelet could no longer fit perfectly around his wrist so it rubbed instead of just tightening slightly whenever it sensed another person tensing. Gritting his teeth, he opened his mouth to ask Mr Eldoon for something cold when once more he was interrupted.

"So _that's _why you needed that money."

For the second time that night, Apollo turned at the sound of a familiar voice, this one a lot more welcome than Wocky Kitaki's, but it still made him yank down his sleeve to hide his injured wrist. "Phoenix!"

The raven-haired man smiled dazedly and stumbled into the stand, laughing slightly as he nearly fell off the stool he tried to sit on. Apollo blinked and looked over at Mr Eldoon who only rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head before frowning at Apollo.

"Thought you said you didn't have anyone?"

"It's... uh, complicated." Yeah, complicated was _definitely _the word to describe his feelings towards Phoenix. "Please don't count Wocky. I wouldn't exactly call him a friend. Besides, him and Phoenix are the only two people I've spoken more than four words to in… well, in a while. Other than to you and my friend over the phone obviously."

Mr Eldoon arched one of his impressively bushy eyebrows but said nothing as Phoenix suddenly piped up, slurring slightly as he spoke. "That's so lonely, Pollio. It's bad being lonely…"

Apollo turned his gaze back to Phoenix and frowned (_'Why the hell did I just admit that?'_). "Oi, don't you start calling me Pollio. I'll leave you to the muggers if you do."

As Phoenix gasped melodramatically the brunette cocked his head to the side and glanced at Mr Eldoon again. The stall owner was currently making a fresh bowl of noodles, presumably for Phoenix, with a resigned look on his face and Apollo's confusion at Phoenix's weird behaviour grew.

"So, Kitaki's, huh?" Phoenix prompted as he swayed happily on his stool. Apollo stared at him for a few seconds then finally realised he was supposed to reply.

"Oi, like I said I didn't exactly have a choice," Apollo squinted at the raven-haired man. "How long were you listening?"

Phoenix shrugged. "I dunno. Wasn't counting. But Wocky Kisaki— I mean, Kitaki isn't someone you want to interact with too much, y'know? Thought it was best to sit it out till he left so I could talk to my favourite hobo properly."

Apollo laughed but felt a chill run down his spine as he listened to Phoenix's unsteady speech. "Glad to know I'm your favourite out of all the others."

"Y'know what I mean, Pollo!" Phoenix waved a hand lazily. He regarded Apollo for a moment then reached out and touched Apollo's cheek. Apollo's eyes widened and he felt his face begin to heat up. "I'm sorry about this."

"About wha— oh, the bruises," Apollo rolled his eyes as he moved away from Phoenix's hand and touched the bruise on his cheek with his own. "Oi, this is nothing. I've had worse. Gotta help a friend in need, right?"

There he went speaking without thinking again. His regret vanished as a dopey smile spread across Phoenix's face.

"See, you're not alone, Pollo." Phoenix mumbled happily and the chill on Apollo's spine increased.

Just like the last two meetings, his doubts about interacting with Phoenix slowly melted away when he was actually with the older man. It reminded him of the first few times he'd talked to Clay. Maybe the circumstances had been different, but his feelings had been more or less the same (and that had worked out okay, hadn't it?).

But the way Phoenix was acting right now…

"Phoenix, what's up with your voice?" He asked quietly, voice trembling, thinking about the slurring and the strange behaviour, trying to work out another explanation for it other than the obvious.

"Nothing's up with my voice. I'm perfectly fine in my voice." Phoenix sounded offended as he folded his arms on the table and laid his head down on top of them, gaze slightly unfocussed.

"Uh… what?" Was Apollo's intelligent response as the cold started to spread through his body.

"It's fine," Phoenix suddenly jerked upright and shook his head violently. "Fine…" He murmured then let out a humourless chuckle. "Nothing's fine, is it, Pollo?"

Apollo was about to respond when Phoenix tilted closer towards him and the stench of alcohol made its way into the brunette's nose. Unable to deny it any longer, he found himself instinctively standing up and pointing his finger accusingly. "You're drunk!"

Phoenix squinted at him in confusion, as if he couldn't quite understand how Apollo had just moved, then shrugged and held up his hand, the tips of his index finger and thumb millimetres away from each other. "Just a little."

"Don't worry about it, kiddo," Mr Eldoon spoke softly and with a sad smile as he put Phoenix's noodles down in front of him. "This happens pretty often."

"Does it?" Apollo snapped and dragged his fingers through his hair before shaking his head. "Does it _really_?"

The more his brain finally accepted the fact Phoenix was drunk (_alco-fucking-holic _from what Eldoon said), the more his emotions seemed to spiral out of control. Hatred and regret and sorrow and suffocating fear and pure, ice cold, pitch black _fury _overwhelmed any sort of rational thought he might have managed and he just wanted to scream because _goddammit _this was pathetic but he couldn't stop it. He hated this. Hated how the very appearance of someone being drunk (someone he _cared _about) could do this to him.

Suddenly he let out a laugh that startled the other two men. It sounded strange to his own ears because it seemed like he honestly found the whole situation funny, but at the same time sarcasm and bitterness practically radiated off of him. "Of course it does. _Fucking of course _it does!"

"Apollo—" Phoenix tried.

"Shut up!" Apollo snapped, every fibre of his being telling him to leave, to run, to never stop running because _this _was why he didn't need people. People let him down, time and time again (always always _always_) and he was sick of it. Sick of getting his hopes up, of thinking he'd found someone who was _different _only for them to show him they were exactly the same as everyone else. No matter how much he craved Phoenix's attention this time he wasn't going to give in. It didn't hurt as much if he didn't have anything to lose.

It was time to start pretending again.

He violently tore off the red hoodie, ignoring the chill that instantly raised goose bumps along his bare arms, and threw it to the floor before glaring at Phoenix (he looked like he was about to _cry_) and spitting, "Stay the fuck _away from me_!"

Then he turned and ran.

He was so very good at doing that.

* * *

**What just happened was a trauma trigger. People react in many different ways, and one of those ways is to feel the same emotions you felt at the time of the traumatic experience. Apollo's reaction may seem random and over the top, but trust me it's not. Since it's mostly been Phoenix we've been seeing, I thought it was a good time to show a few of Apollo's problems.**

**And yes, Athena! We'll be seeing a bit more of her, but it will still mostly be Phoenix and Apollo. Same thing goes for Wocky. **

**Please review. Let me know if the story is flowing okay.**


End file.
